


The Great Canadian Bake Off

by bumblybee



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Great British Bake Off Fusion, Baker Sid, Hockey Player Geno, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblybee/pseuds/bumblybee
Summary: When it’s time, though, Sidney takes a deep breath, slipping his luckyNUTS About Bakingapron, a gift from his grandmother, over his shoulders, and turns on the camera for his audition tape.“My name’s Sidney Crosby; I’m from Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia; and today I’m going to be making my grandmother’s maple butter tarts.”





	The Great Canadian Bake Off

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my contribution to the fluff fest! It was only supposed to be 3k, but it kind of ran away with me, and I really wanted to try to get this done before the end of the week. 
> 
> A few things: I started working on this before I realized that there is, in fact, a Canadian equivalent of GBBO. This is based on the original show, so any similarities with the real Canadian one are coincidental. Also, I am not a baker by any stretch of the imagination, so I have no idea if any of this makes sense, or if Sid's actually making anything the right way.

As soon as Sidney sets the coffee cake down on the table in the break room, he can see the horde of office workers stampeding toward him, trying to get there in enough time to be able to grab a slice before they’re gone. It’s a new recipe Sidney’s trying, and he’s learned from his last several years working at the office that the best way to get a bunch of guinea pigs for a new recipe is to bring some samples to work.

And by ‘a bunch,’ he means practically the whole office.

Fortunately, Sidney has enough time to get out of the way, and within a few minutes, there’s only a few slices left, most of his coworkers giving him their thanks before heading back to their cubicles to eat.

Most, of course, except Kris.

“Sid, what would we do without you?” Kris asks, shoving a second slice in his mouth with one hand, a coffee cup in his other.

“Probably be a few pounds slimmer,” Sidney says, which makes Kris snort.

“Yeah, but what fun is that?”

“Did you hear?” Jake points at the TV, which is currently showing reruns of a baking show. “They’re doing a Canadian version of that soon. You should try out.”

It’s enough to make Sidney almost sigh. Jake hasn’t been the first to inform him of the new show, nor has he been the first to encourage Sidney to try out. It’s stressful enough trying to make something that’s up to Sidney’s own standards, much less that of celebrity chefs.

“I’m not interested in baking competitions.”

“You mean the British one?” Kris asks. “The one where they’re always way too nice?”

Jake blinks. “I… guess?”

“You should try out then,” Kris says, turning back to Sidney with a grin before heading back toward his own cubicle. “You’d fit right in.”

Jake reaches for a second slice of cake while he thinks Sidney’s not paying any attention, and the look of utter terror on his face when he realizes he’s been caught is almost worth bringing the cake into the office in the first place. 

As Sidney’s getting settled into his cubicle again once the cake is completely gone, his phone pings. He grabs it from his pocket, and the lock screen shows he has a new email from Kris. THere’s a link, and then just a short note. 

_Give it a shot—what’s there to lose?_

Sidney swipes the notification off his phone and gets back to work.  


 

* * *

 

There was a time, years and years ago, when Sidney was first starting to learn how to bake from his grandmother, that he would have given anything to be a baker. There are no memories he cherishes more than those mornings spent in the kitchen at his grandparents’ house, sunlight streaming in through the window over the sink as they hurried to make breakfast scones before everyone else in the house woke up.

Sometimes, when no one else was in the house, he’d even pretend he had his own cooking show, talking about his nonexistent new cookbook and demonstrating with invisible ingredients just how to make the perfect cranberry muffin.

It never mattered whether he was making real or imaginary food, his grandmother’s kitchen always smelled like cinnamon—and to this day, Sidney avoids using cinnamon in his baking as much as possible. Cinnamon is the smell of _home_ , and Sidney hasn’t felt like he’s had a real home since then. 

But that was a long time ago, his grandparents long gone, and with them had passed his dreams.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t until a week after the break room conversation, when Sidney’s working overtime for the second time that week, that he checks his email again. He’s all but forgotten about it, leaving Kris’ message unread in his inbox, shoved down toward the bottom underneath all the urgent emails he’s having to work with instead.

But as he’s staring at his computer screen, the office almost completely empty, the fluorescent light above his cubicle starting to buzz and flicker, he starts to wonder. 

His ten-year-old self would jump on the opportunity in a heartbeat, and he knows what his grandmother would tell him if she were still here.

_What does he have to lose?_

 

* * *

 

Sidney makes the recipe three times before he even turns on the camera for his audition video.

Each time he practices, the butter tarts come out just as perfectly as the last batch, and it means he has more than enough to pass around at work the next day. None of his coworkers at the office seem to mind that he’s brought the same food in three times in a row—nor ask why he’s pulled out all the stops this time, thankfully—and by the time Sidney drops by the break room to grab his plates before heading home, there’s only ever crumbs left over. 

When it’s time, though, Sidney takes a deep breath, slipping his lucky _NUTS About Baking_ apron, a gift from his grandmother, over his shoulders, and turns on the camera. 

“My name’s Sidney Crosby; I’m from Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia; and today I’m going to be making my grandmother’s maple butter tarts.”

 

* * *

 

When he gets the phone call, he almost can’t believe it. 

He has to ask for the time off, and although his supervisor is supportive and lets him use some vacation time, it all feels like it’s not really him going to the audition, like he’s just watching it all happen from somewhere else. 

The rest of the week is a mad dash to get things packed—both essentials like clothes, but also ingredients and mixing bowls and, of course, his apron. He’s put on a flight to Vancouver, and the next day he’s standing in front of a panel of judges and being asked to make two of his best recipes. 

“I like your apron,” one of the judges says, and Sidney feels his cheeks heat as he thanks them. He can’t bake without it, no matter what, so if he has to embarrass himself a little in front of some judges because of it, he’ll do it. 

Sidney chooses two of his favorite classics—a Nanaimo bar with a special chocolate mint crust and custard, as well as a _pouding chômeur_ with peanut butter syrup. It feels strange, describing what he’s doing and how he’s doing it before a small group of eerily quiet people, but all the practice he’d put in as a kid makes it not so terrifying. He just tries to pretend the room is empty, and goes about his work as though he’s the only one in the room. 

It only feels even weirder, though, when his desserts are passed out to the judges, and they take a bite of each with no expression on their faces, just the clattering of cutlery against the plates. 

When they thank him and call for the next contestant, Sidney’s almost worried that he’s blown it, that maybe he doesn’t have the charisma it takes to be on the show. He gathers up his things, and they allow him to wash his dishes in the next room before he’s released for the rest of the day. 

He spends it in his hotel room, going over and over what he’d done, whether he’d done anything wrong—but his bakes had come out looking perfectly fine, exactly the way they were supposed to. If he’d done something wrong, it’d have to have been with the flavor, and only the judges would know that at this point. 

Sidney’s all but given the trip up as a way to use up some vacation time when he gets a call the morning of his flight back to Halifax. 

He’s going to be one of the twelve contestants.

 

* * *

 

The next several weeks are a whirlwind of preparation. Sidney maps out what his signature bakes will be for the entire ten-week stint, making sure they’re increasingly more impressive as the series will go on. He brainstorms ideas for his showstoppers so he has a log of possibilities that can match any number of potential requirements, and practices working on techniques he’s not entirely comfortable with, like sugar work, so that he’s at least a little prepared in case it comes up.

He says goodbye to Kris and Jake and his coworkers, who are nothing but supportive and throw him a good luck party. 

“I told you!” Kris says, putting his arm around Sidney’s shoulders. “I told you he’d be a famous baker one day!”

And then it’s time to pack for Vancouver again.

 

* * *

 

His first day on set feels like an out-of-body experience.

It doesn’t look much different from the British version of the show, with two rows of six stations each, one for each contestant, and the decor is that same familiar, homey, almost vintage look with subdued colors. There’s fridges on the outsides of the room for two people to share, and an oven for each station, along with basic cooking utensils, bowls, and plates. He’s interviewed by one of the show hosts about his apron—while everyone else is wearing matching aprons provided by the show, his is the one that stands out. 

“It’s lucky,” Sidney tells the camera, shrugging and trying not to seem too uncomfortable. It’s bizarre, staring down the lens of a camera and talking about himself. He’s not sure he’s entirely used to it yet. “My grandmother made it for me when I was younger, so I could grow into it. I can’t bake without it.” 

And then they meet the judges. 

The producer had wanted to capture the contestants’ surprise on meeting the judges for the first time, but Sidney can’t say he knows either of them. Brian appears to be the bad cop judge, his arms crossed the whole time, while Mona is nothing but smiles and encouraging words. 

Moments later, they’re told to start on their first bakes. 

Sidney doesn’t like to think he gets nervous very easily, but his hands might shake a little as he’s piping daubs of icing onto his peanut butter cookie cupcakes, his own personal favorite dessert and his very first signature bake. The judges have nothing but praise for him when they try them, even bad cop Brian, and Sidney stands there, smiling, hands in his lucky apron pockets. 

That’s how it goes for much of Sidney’s time on the show—the judges generally like his bakes. And when guest judges are introduced in the second episode, they generally concur with Brian and Mona on his work. Sidney’s bakes aren’t the most creative ones in the room, he’ll admit that much, but he tries to substitute things in to make them a little different, a little more his own. And if peanut butter happens to be his go-to flavor, well, nobody really seems to mind all that much so long as he’s creative about how he uses it. He’s not top of the pack, but he’s not at the bottom, either, not by a long shot. 

Well, except for that one chocolate challenge, but Sidney doesn’t like to dwell on that. 

He becomes friends with Marc-André, the contestant at the station behind him with whom he shares a fridge. Marc-André practically insists Sidney call him Flower, though the show hosts continue to call him by his first name, and it’s as though Sidney’s known Flower all his life. They spend the down time waiting on their ovens or on the producers chatting, and it’s—it’s nice, to have a friend. It hadn’t really crossed Sidney’s mind how lonely it might be, spending six weeks in Vancouver away from work and family and friends, but for the first day or so, it had felt a little like Sidney was a fish out of water. 

Flower’s a great baker, though, and his bakes are consistently scored highly, so he’s tough competition. Sidney’s not sure they’d get along as well as they do if he wasn’t, and it makes Sidney feel at least that little bit better knowing that Flower won’t be eliminated any time soon.

 

* * *

 

Sidney’s a good Canadian boy. He played hockey when he was younger, still watches hockey when it’s on TV and he has nothing better to do or needs the background noise. He knows the big names in the game, even when they don’t play for any of the Canadian teams or aren’t Canadian themselves, and he always tries to go to at least one Haps game a season. 

Which is why his heart nearly stops when, in the ultimate plot twist, Evgeni Malkin is presented as a guest judge in Week Five. 

You see, Sidney’s also enough of a hockey fan to know what his weaknesses are—namely, hockey players—and to know that Malkin ticks all the boxes. 

When Malkin’s introduced, he’s taller than any of the other judges—and the contestants, for that matter—by at least a few inches, but the way he smiles and waves when he walks in makes him almost seem small. That could, of course, be the fact that he’s not decked out in his usual game gear, but is instead in what looks like a soft sweater and comfy jeans—

And that’s not a road Sidney’s brain needs to go down, not today. 

“My mama make best bakes,” Malkin says after he’s been introduced by Brian and Mona. “Have to make really good thing to impress me.” 

There’s laughter all around, and Sidney smiles only for a moment before he realizes Malkin’s looking at him.

It’s enough of an excuse to keep his head down and focus on his signature bake, which, fortunately, is difficult enough to require it. Sidney has to keep an eye on the caramel on the stove, as well as the cake in the oven—if either get too hot, they’ll be ruined, and Sidney won’t have anything to show for it. 

And he’s not about to embarrass himself in front of Evgeni Malkin. 

Fortunately, just as he’s pulling the cake out, the caramel sauce gets to the right temperature and consistency, and he’s able to carefully drape it over the cake and let it soak for just a moment before getting the cake out of the tin. He’s made the cake a little dry to accommodate for the sauce, but there’s still a lot that could go wrong. Too much soaking, and it’ll be a caramel-drenched mess, but just enough, and…

He gets the cake on his display and dusted with powered sugar just before time is called, and he’s left to wait and fidget while Malkin and the regular judges go from table to table, taste-testing each of the bakes. 

As the cake sits and waits, there isn’t any sauce escaping onto the plate—no soggy bottoms here—and Sidney says a little prayer of thanks for that much. 

When Malkin rounds the corner and approaches Sidney’s bench, he smiles again, and it takes Sidney a moment to realize he’s staring at Sidney’s chest. 

Well, the apron on his chest. Which says _NUTS_. He’s wearing something that says _NUTS_ in front of Evgeni Malkin. 

_Oh god_. 

“It’s—it’s an apple walnut cake with caramel sauce,” Sidney says, trying to push past his embarrassment. 

“Sidney’s our resident peanut butter lover,” Mona says, evoking a polite laugh from everyone there. 

“Can tell he like nuts,” Malkin says, nothing but smiles, and if Sidney’s face isn’t already red, he can only imagine what it must look like now. 

Three slices of cake are cut and handed out to each judge, and there’s a moment of quiet as everyone digs in.

“Just the right amount of sauce,” Brian says. “And none of the flavors are too overpowering; just the right balance of each.” 

Malkin still doesn’t say anything, though he does take a second bite of the cake, something he hadn’t done with any of the other contestants’ bakes. There’s a long pause, and then he puts the plate down with a little bit of a clatter, and Sidney knows he’s messed up, that somehow he’s done it wrong or made it too plain—

But then Malkin looks up at him, a goofy smile on his face, and Sidney _melts_. 

“Best thing I’m eat in months,” Malkin says. “And I’m never skip dessert.” 

There’s polite laughter all around, and Geno offers his hand to Sidney to shake, something he hadn’t done for many of the other contestants. Sidney takes it, almost surprised by how well his hand fits into Malkin’s—and then the judges are moving on to Flower’s bake, and Sidney’s left smiling stupidly down at his cake. 

He couldn’t have asked for a better start.

 

* * *

 

Malkin’s provided the recipe for the technical challenge, one of his favorite traditional Russian desserts from his mother. 

“Pryanik like gingerbread, but not always have ginger,” Malkin explains. “Mama always make with, though. She make best pryanik you’re ever have. This her recipe, so you’re better make right, or she get mad.” 

There’s some laughter, and then the timer is started. 

It’s not that Sidney sticks to safe bakes most of the time, although he does lean more that way than anything too adventurous. It’s just that he knows what he likes, and he hasn’t really had any reason to try anything outside the realm of what his family’s always made, even if he does swap ingredients or flavors every so often.

So when he’s presented with the bare-bones recipe for pryanik, he knows it’s going to be more than difficult to get it right. To its credit, it’s a little more detailed than previous technical challenge recipes have been, as it outlines specifically what goes into the dough and the shape to cut each piece into, and Sidney’s able to follow that as best he can. 

It’s the filling that gives him issues. 

“‘Step 4: Make the raspberry filling,’” Flower reads out from behind him. “How in the—“

“Flower,” Sidney says over his shoulder—there’s a camera pointing their way, and if it’s one thing they maybe both have an issue with, it’s remembering they’re always being watched. But Flower’s already moved on to mashing the berries, shaking his head. 

Once Sidney’s finished the filling, and after a brief, anxiety-inducing crisis about whether he’s made it the right consistency, Sidney spreads the filling between two layers of dough, squishing the edges together with the tines on a fork. They’ve each been provided with a stamp, just the right size, and he presses the image into the tops of each pryanik before covering the top with sugar syrup. 

He gets the whole cookie sheet covered in pryaniki and puts them into the oven, and then it’s just a waiting game. 

The recipe doesn’t specify how long they’re supposed to bake, so Sidney makes himself comfortable on the floor, turning the oven light on and just watching, his back leaned up against the front of Flower’s bench. His heart is pounding, because he knows that even though he’s proven himself in previous technical challenges, if any of them are going to ruin him, it’ll be this one. 

Sidney leans his head back, closing his eyes for just a moment, and when he opens them again, Malkin’s sitting on the floor next to him, his long legs scrunched up to fit. 

“I’m sorry,” Sidney says, almost jumping when he realizes Malkin is there. “I didn’t see you.” 

“It’s okay.” Malkin leans forward to look through the oven window, and Sidney takes a glance, too. 

Malkin points out one of the pryaniki on the furthest row, where there’s a little dribble of filling spilling out and bubbling. “He leaky.”

Sidney huffs a laugh, because that’s really all he can do at this point—the pryaniki aren’t quite finished, so he can’t even think about taking them out yet. “Yeah, I guess he is.” 

“Look good though,” Malkin says then, looking at Sidney, and just as Sidney’s about to ask what he means, Malkin clears his throat and looks away. “Top of pryaniki supposed to get dark. Already look good.”

“Oh.” Sidney has another look, and, sure enough, the tops are certainly starting to turn a deep brown color. 

There’s a pause, and Sidney feels like he should say something else, but then Malkin’s getting up, and oh man, he’s even _more_ gigantic when you’re looking at him from the ground. 

“Have to check on others,” he says. “See you, Sidney.” 

Sidney watches him leave, watches as he checks in on the next contestant. He almost doesn’t get the pryaniki out of the oven in time, because—

Because _Evgeni Malkin_ knows his name now.

 

* * *

 

The submissions for the technical challenge are placed on one table in front of different numbers in an effort to keep things anonymous. There’s a good smattering of different results—some pryaniki are a light brown color, others are square instead of rectangular, some are only sealed on parallel sides and have filling spilled out onto the plate. 

Sidney’s are nice and neat, though, and with the exception of the one leaky pryanik that he’s hidden underneath all the other ones, they all look exactly the same. If nothing else, he should at least get points for consistency—so maybe he won’t be at the absolute bottom, if he’s lucky. 

Brian starts by tapping the top of each one with a fork, and it’s clear from the expression on his face whether it passes that test or not. Some of the lighter-colored ones break easily, exposing uncooked dough on the inside, while others break and crumble altogether, having been baked too long. Sidney’s is somewhere in the middle, and he can tell that Malkin recognizes his—he moves some of the pryaniki around until he finds the leaky one, and he smiles and stops, just for a moment, before moving on to the next plate. 

Sidney’s pryaniki are the second-best of the challenge, and when Malkin announces his number, Sidney raises his hand a little tentatively. 

“Almost perfect,” Malkin says. “Except for leaky guy.”

Sidney knows now he’s never going to live that down. But if Malkin keeps smiling at him like that, well. Maybe he’s okay with that.

 

* * *

 

The showstopper challenge is saved for the next day, as it is every week, and so the contestants end up heading to the hotel to get some much-needed rest after their long day.

Coincidentally, Sidney discovers, Malkin is staying at the same hotel as everyone else. 

Flower and Sidney end up in the bar downstairs, because it’s somewhat less depressing than just staying in one of their hotel rooms and ordering in a movie—Sidney’s done that more in the last few weeks that he’ll probably ever want to in his life. They both end up ordering a beer, and when they clink their bottles together, Flower’s eyes widen. 

“Malkin,” he says, pointing toward the end of the bar behind Sidney, and Sidney turns. 

It’s definitely Malkin, although he’s sitting alone, nursing a drink that Sidney doesn’t immediately recognize. He seems content, watching the TV above the bar—the Canucks are playing, so the handful of locals working the bar sneak a look every so often when they can. 

But, of course, Malkin’s changed, and he’s wearing a v-neck tee that lets his necklaces shine in the admittedly dim light, and—and that’s way more detail than Sidney needs to be paying attention to. 

“Should we talk to him?” Sidney asks, turning back toward Flower, but Flower’s raising an eyebrow, and before he can say anything, Malkin’s standing beside them, towering over them both. 

“Mind if I join?” he asks. 

“Of course not,” Sidney says, and Malkin takes the seat next to him. 

Flower finishes off the last couple sips of his beer, and then tilts his head toward the exit. “I think I’m heading back. Promised Vero I’d FaceTime with her and the girls tonight.” 

Sidney gives him a look that he hopes says _No, please stay and help me,_ but Flower just smirks at him as he stands up, heading for the elevators across the way. 

“You know each other before you’re come here?” Malkin asks, and Sidney shakes his head. 

“No. We just shared a fridge at first, but it’s kind of hard not to be Flower’s friend.” 

Malkin nods. “What make you want to do this, if you’re not have friend come, too?”

Sidney tries to think of something a little less embarrassing than the truth, because the truth isn’t exactly flattering, but he sighs and gives in in the end. 

“I don’t—I work in an office, but I always wanted to be a baker as a kid, and my grandma was always really supportive. I guess I kind of wanted to do it for her, to see if I can. And for me, too. Well, younger me.” 

Malkin’s expression softens then. “You good baker, Sidney. Know I’m not expert, know I’m only try two things you’re make, but know you good. Grandma be proud of you.” 

“Thank you.” Sidney stares down at his beer bottle for a moment, the weight of Malkin’s words settling down and wrapping around him like a warm, weighted blanket. “That really—that means a lot.” 

Malkin rests his hand on Sidney’s forearm. “Mean it,” he says, looking Sidney in the eyes, and the second of silence that follows feels like the longest moment Sidney’s ever experienced as he looks right back, his heart pounding in his chest. 

It’s broken when Malkin takes his hand away, though, and he downs the rest of his drink like it’s a shot, standing up. “You should rest,” he says. “Big day tomorrow, need sleep.” 

“Right,” Sidney says, and Geno just smiles, the lopsided smile that brings on the warm fuzzies in Sidney’s stomach that he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” Malkin says, just a little quieter, and then he’s leaving, turning the corner. 

Sidney orders another beer before heading upstairs. He definitely feels like he’s deserved it.

 

* * *

 

“Evgeni’s going to introduce today’s Showstopper Challenge,” one of the judges says. It’s purely for television—everyone here already knows what the challenge is going to be and has brought their own ingredients, but Malkin steps forward anyway.

“Today’s challenge: make something Russian,” Malkin says. “Can be Russian recipe, can just look Russian—how you think Russian food look, anyway. I be judge of if it’s really Russian.” 

There’s some light laughter, and then, when time is called—they have twelve hours to complete their creations—everyone hurries to get started as the judges make their rounds from table to table. 

Sidney’s original plan for the challenge had been to create sushki, what are essentially Russian bagels, but Sidney had run out of ideas trying to come up with something creative to do with them. That’s the whole point of the challenge, after all—you have to make something jaw-dropping, something that sets you apart from the other contestants in a positive way. 

Russian bagels just aren’t going to cut it, not when Malkin’s probably expecting a lot more from him. 

So, early, early that morning, Sidney had requested a few extra things from the show’s cooking resources—a printed photograph, and a _ton_ of chocolate. 

Sidney starts making his standard peanut butter cake, one of the handful of things he’s perfected over the years and prides himself in being able to make anytime, anywhere—though he replaces the peanut butter with hazelnut spread to get the rich chocolate color he wants. Once that’s in the oven, he gets to work on the icing, pulling out the stand mixer and getting his ingredients incorporated. 

“What you make, Sid?” a voice asks, and Sidney almost jumps in surprise. 

Malkin and the other judges are crowded around the end of his station, Malkin leaning forward a little, his elbows on the table. 

“I’m—well, I’m making a giant cake ball with a ganache center.”

There’s a polite silence, and Sidney can tell they’re trying not to laugh. And he gets it, really—why in the world would he be making a cake ball? 

Sidney scoots the picture he’d asked for toward them and continues.

“It’s going to be in the shape of St. Basil’s Cathedral,” he says. “I’m going to sculpt it with the cake ball mixture and then cover it with chocolate. Though I might have to do the onion domes as just hollow chocolate and the base as the cake.” He holds up the forms he’s made himself out of some cardstock paper in the general shape of the onion domes, a slip of wax paper tucked inside each to act as a liner. 

“Peanut butter cake?” Malkin asks, and he looks almost offended when Sidney shakes his head. 

“Nutella cake,” Sidney says, and Malkin’s eyes light up as he gives Sidney the same smile from the night before. 

“Can’t wait to see,” he says, and then they’re being urged on to the next bench as soon as Sidney’s oven timer goes off. 

Time to get down to business.

 

* * *

 

The frosting is finished as soon as the cake’s out of the oven, and while Sidney lets that cool, he gets to work on the ganache. He makes it a little runny to begin with—he doesn’t want it to combine with the cake ball mixture and make things stickier than he needs them to be.

And then it’s all about the timing. 

As soon as the cake has cooled down enough, he crumbles the whole thing, adding the frosting until it’s the right texture: not too sticky, not too crumbly. He uses the edges of a shoebox—covered in wax paper, of course—that he’d used to transport some things to Vancouver to help him sculpt the base of the cathedral, leaving a hollowed-out center for the ganache. Once he’s built a nice shoebox-shaped base, he also sculpts out a lid to place over the top once the ganache has been poured in—he won’t have much time to get the ganache in and then get the whole thing in the freezer. He adds some of the extra frosting from making the cake ball batter along the top edge of the box to act as glue for the lid, and then—

Then it’s time for the ganache. 

And, because Sidney’s luck is consistently not great, that is the exact moment Malkin decides to come check in on him without the cameras. 

“How it go, Sidney?”

Sidney’s got the bowl of ganache in the air, using a spatula to try to get it all out and into the base. “Pretty good, I think. I’ll be better once the next step is over.” 

“Next step?”

“Making the chocolate.” The last ounce of ganache is in the base, and Sidney sets the bowl and spatula aside with a clank, reaching for the lid. “Sorry, I’ve just got to—“

Malkin takes a step back, hands up. “Sorry, sorry. Don’t want to distract.” 

Sidney takes a few extra seconds placing the lid down, but it results in him getting it put on straight the first time. 

And then he dashes for the fridge, tucking the cake into the freezer and audibly sighing once that’s done. 

Malkin’s still at his table when he gets back, and Sidney gets to work on the first batch of chocolate. 

“Everything go okay so far?” Malkin asks, and Sidney nods. 

“Yeah, everything’s—it’s working out so far,” he says, setting his stove to a light simmer and getting to work creating cylinders out of cake pop batter for the towers. Fortunately, there’s no ganache in those, and it proves to be a much easier process. “The timing’s worked out okay. But the chocolate’s always the hardest part.” 

In fact, chocolate is so difficult for Sidney that he tends to avoid it. But when the idea for a chocolate-covered cathedral sprouted in his brain, he couldn’t just not do it. 

Even if he ends up failing miserably with the chocolate, at least he’s assured it’ll be edible. 

“Evgeni?” someone calls, and Malkin looks over his shoulder before standing up straight. 

“Have to go,” he says, but when he looks back at Sidney, there’s an expression on his face that Sidney can’t quite place. “Good luck today.” 

“Thanks,” Sidney says, a little taken aback—but he has chocolate to make, he reminds himself, so watching Malkin’s back muscles as he walks away is _not_ a good use of his remaining time. 

When the cake comes out of the freezer, Sidney has exactly three hours left to complete his cathedral. If he were making anything else, three hours at the last stage would be, pardon the pun, _cake_. But he has chocolate to coat and sculpt with, and he’s also got to make sure the cake gets back in the fridge for an hour or so before time is called. 

Needless to say, he’s got work to do and not much time to do it in. 

He takes the towers to the freezer and exchanges them for the cake itself, and the it’s time for the hard part. 

He’s made the first batch of milk chocolate somewhere between the consistency of the ganache and the regular candy chocolate consistency he’d use for cake pops at home. Since he can’t just dunk the base in the chocolate, he’s going to have to use an icing knife to coat it. 

That’s a hell of lot easier said than done, though. 

Fortunately, the cake mixture itself doesn’t crumble, and the ganache doesn’t leak out—it’s too cold for that at this point, and Sidney’s thankful he decided to leave it in the freezer for as long as he did. But chocolate isn’t made to be treated like icing, not really, and it’s difficult for Sidney to get an even, smooth coating on the base, try as he might. 

In the end, he uses the blunt edge of a long knife to get that smooth look, and although he has to take things slowly, it ends up looking okay in the end.

Once the base has a nice coating of chocolate, and once the lid of the cake isn’t visible through it, Sidney pops the cake into the fridge as he works on the second batch of chocolate. He takes the towers out of the fridge, gives them a good coating using the same method, and then they go back in the fridge to join the main structure. 

He makes his third batch of chocolate and gets to work on the onion domes next, coating the insides of the forms he’s made. It’s a hell of a lot trickier than he’d thought it would be, and after tilting it every which way to make sure everything’s coated well, he puts those in the fridge, too. 

Then is the last two batches of chocolate, and Sidney takes the base and the cylinders out. The dark chocolate he uses as an accent, drizzling the base and adding details to each of the towers. He uses some regular milk chocolate to act as glue, strategically putting each tower in its place based on the picture he’s been given, and then the whole thing is put back in the fridge in exchange for the onion domes. 

Sidney takes them out of the forms, halfway expecting them to break—he’d made a few extras just in case—but the wax paper makes the removal easy, and it peels right off of the chocolate, no problem. He uses some white chocolate and food coloring to add drizzles to each, making each one a different color based on the photo,green and red and yellow and blue, and then those are popped back in the freezer for a couple minutes before it’s time for the moment of truth. 

He pulls both the domes and the cake out, taking a deep breath once he’s staring at them both on his work table. 

The one hour mark is called, and Sidney knows he’s going to have to work quickly. 

He again uses the milk chocolate as glue, coating the rims of the onion domes and placing them carefully, gently on top of each tower, trying not to break a thing. His hands shake a little as he puts the last onion dome on, and—

And the chocolate crumbles in his hand. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he mumbles to himself, even though it is very much _not_ okay, thank you very much. This is what he made extras for, this is what he’s been expecting all along; not everything can be perfect in one challenge, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to freak out a little about it. 

Sidney treats the backup onion dome a little more carefully this time, even though his hands shake considerably more.

It sticks to its tower without a problem. 

Flower’s already finished with his showstopper, and he opens the fridge door for Sidney, helping him move some of the racks so the entire cake will fit. And fit it does, just barely, with fifty minutes to spare.

Sidney nearly collapses right there onto the floor in exhaustion, but he’s not done yet. 

He’s still got to get it out of the fridge and back to his bench safely for the judging.

 

* * *

 

With three minutes left in the challenge, Sidney retrieves his cathedral from the fridge and takes the slowest steps of his life toward the end of his bench, setting it down as cautiously as he can.

Nothing happens. No disaster, no tripping, no shattering of onion domes. 

Sidney slumps onto the stool behind his cathedral. 

He’s going to be sleeping all week, he can feel it. 

The moment time is called, the cameramen get their usual shot of each baker with their creations, and then it’s time for the judging. 

Sidney’s cake is by far the largest thing anyone has attempted for the challenge, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the best. Some of the prettiest things people have made end up being not fully baked, and some of the not-so-pretty creations end up tasting the best. It’s all a balance, Sidney’s learned—you have to be somewhere in the middle. 

And even though he’s definitely not a chocolatier, Sidney has to be proud of what he’s made. He’s never had any kind of chocolate creation turn out so well—he doesn’t really care if he doesn’t win the challenge at this point. 

Well, okay, that’s a lie. But he’s proud of himself regardless. 

His breath catches when the judges move from Flower’s bench to his own, because—

Because Malkin’s staring at his cathedral, eyes wide and a big smile on his face. 

“Wow,” Malkin breathes, and Sidney can feel his cheeks start to heat. 

“So, um,” Sidney starts, though the words take a moment to come. “This is a Nutella cake ball with a chocolate ganache center, coated in milk chocolate with dark and white chocolate accents. It’s based on St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow.” 

“I remember you said you weren’t very good with chocolate during your chocolate showstopper,” Brian says. “Why did you decide to go with it again?”

Sidney takes a deep breath. He’d been expecting that, and all he can do is tell the truth.

“Because I had this idea in my head, and I wanted to prove that I can do better than I did in that challenge.”

There’s a bit of a pause, and then the cake is cut. Sidney holds his breath—there are so many things that could go wrong here, and any number of them could completely ruin things. 

But the chocolate shell only cracks a little, as much as to be expected, and the ganache in the center is the perfect consistency, a little thicker than when Sidney had first made it, but not so thick as to be too much of a contrast to the cake ball. 

“These hollow?” Malkin asks, pointing to one of the onion domes. 

Sidney nods. “Yeah. The colored bits are the white chocolate; I just added food coloring to make it look right.” 

Malkin plucks one of the onion domes right off, biting into it before even touching his slice of the cake, and if his expression is anything to go by, Sidney must have made the best chocolate Malkin’s ever tasted.

“ _So good_ ,” Malkin says. 

“You’re not supposed to tell him what you think!” Mona scolds him, laughing, and Malkin looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, and moves on to the cake without a word.

When the judges have had their fill—and when Malkin’s cleaned his plate—they move on to the next bench, and Sidney’s able to finally, finally relax, slumping into his chair.

At least Malkin had liked it. Sidney thinks he can live so long as that’s true. 

When the judges have seen everyone’s bakes, they lead Malkin out to deliberate on the winner of the challenge, and who will receive the title of Star Baker for the week. There’s a nervous energy in the room, as there always is after a showstopper, a mixture of anxiety and excitement. 

“You’re a shoo-in,” Flower says, leaning forward across his bench to talk to him. “Did you see Malkin’s face when he ate your chocolate? I could have sworn he was about to c—“

“Cameras,” Sidney warns, though he grasps what Flower’s getting at. Malkin really isn’t judge material, at least not when it comes to having a poker face. 

But maybe that’s not a bad thing. 

It doesn’t take long before the judges are back, and there’s a hush over the room as conversations are quickly ended. Everyone stands up and walks toward the front of the room, standing in a semi-circle in front of the judges. Sidney tries to get some kind of read from Malkin’s expression, but his face is blank this time, and he doesn’t meet Sidney’s gaze, focusing instead on the patch of floor in front of him. 

“We’ve come to a decision,” Mona says. “The winner of this challenge is…”

“Sidney,” Malkin says, looking up at Sidney at the very last moment. The smile he gives Sidney then is the brightest thing Sidney’s ever seen, and it makes Sidney smile too, wider than ever as there’s polite applause all around. 

He’s never won a showstopper challenge before. He never thought it’d be over a cake ball and some chocolate, but here he is. 

And _Evgeni Malkin_ , of all people, thinks he’s worthy of winning for it. 

It’s all a little too much.

“And this week’s Star Baker is…”

“Janet,” Malkin says, though the smiles he gives then isn’t nearly as wide, nearly as pretty as the one that had been all for Sidney.

There’s more applause, and then it’s time for the elimination announcement. Malkin steps back as both judges step forward.

And while Sidney usually fears for his own chances when it’s elimination time, he’s not so worried now. A showstopper win means a lot in the course of the competition, he knows that much. You can fail the signature and the technical and win the showstopper, and you won’t have to worry about being booted unless you’re down to the last few contestants. 

“Unfortunately, we’re also going to have to let go of someone,” Brian says. “And this week, it’s…” 

“Carl,” Mona says after a pause

Sidney breathes out a silent sigh—because of course, even though he’d known logically there would be a slim chance for his name to be called, he’s glad it didn’t happen all the same.

The cameras get their obligatory shots of the contestants congratulating Sidney and Janet and hugging Carl goodbye, the judges mingling and moving around the room to try to talk to everyone. It takes a few moments before Malkin joins in, but when he does, he makes a beeline for Sidney. 

“Congrats,” he says. “You deserve win.” 

“Thanks. That—really means a lot.”

“Lucky apron really lucky.” 

Sidney grins. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

Malkin looks a little shy, just for a moment then. “I leave tomorrow morning, but—you want get dinner?” 

It takes a moment for Sidney to realize the weight of what Malkin's asking, but when the words process, there’s only one answer he can give. 

_“Yes.”_

 

* * *

 

**Five months later**

Sidney takes off his coat as soon as he steps inside the house, hanging it up on the coat rack along with his scarf and hat. The house is already toasty, a fire crackling in the fireplace. He’s not quite used to that yet, to coming home to a warm house, but he’s starting to think he will. 

Geno walks out of the living room, his phone in his hand, and he immediately slips it into his pocket, breaking out into a grin when he sees Sidney. He rests his hands on either side of Sidney’s waist, pulling him close so he can crane his neck down and put his face right where Sidney’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“How last day at work go?” Geno asks, not moving from where he’d made himself comfortable. 

“Good.” Geno’s still a little too tall to reach, even when he’s leaning down, but Sidney manages to put his arms around Geno’s back to hug him. 

The office had thrown another party for him in celebration of winning the bake off, and even though Sidney had never been particularly attached to his work or most of his coworkers, it had still been pretty emotional. He’d promised Kris that they’d continue to have their Friday afternoon beer as soon as Kris got off work—and maybe Sidney had some secret plans of his own to invite Flower next time, too. 

“We’re gonna miss you, Sid,” Kris had said. “Well, mostly your bakes, but also you.” 

Sidney had made Jake promise to let him know how things end up with the girl he’s been asking for advice about practically since he started the job, and Jake had agreed. But as soon as Jake’s bottom lip had started to wobble, Sidney had to pretend not to notice to keep from crying himself. 

“You get couple calls about cookbook,” Geno tells him, standing up straight but still holding Sidney close. “Three companies want you to write. I’m tell them you call tomorrow, or couple days. When you feel like.”

“Thanks, G.” Sidney holds onto him for just a moment longer. 

He’d known this would be tough, but having Geno here takes a lot of the sting out of it. 

Geno kisses his cheek, then leads him toward the living room, where the TV is almost constantly on whatever channel is showing a hockey game when Geno’s over. This time, though, Geno’s pulled up an episode of _American Pickers_ from the DVR, one of Sidney’s favorites, and the moment Sidney sits down on the sofa, Geno drapes a soft fleece blanket over them both and presses play on the remote.

And whether it’s because of the scented candle on the coffee table or just his nose playing tricks on him, he can smell cinnamon, faintly, as though it’s wafted in from another room.

That’s when he knows. 

He’s home now.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Tumblr blog just for my fic now! I post a lot of extras there that won't be available on AO3. You can find it [here](https://bumblybee-fic.tumblr.com/). :)


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